


Smack That

by Vulgarwords



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crack, M/M, Smut, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:27:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarwords/pseuds/Vulgarwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zitao is a shitty maknae, but luckily, Jongdae is a <i>very</i> good hyung.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smack That

They told him, _you're finally going to be a singer, an idol,_ that all he had to do was sign along the dotted line and ba-da-boom-ba-da-bing there he'd be, on stage, microphone in hand, belting out high notes to the tune of the audience's applause. That's what they said, what they _promised_ , and yet...

... here he is, sans microphone, donning an apron with the phrase _Kiss the Chef_ stitched in Curly-Que script on the front, wondering why the _fuck_ he listened. Seriously, if he had known back then that he'd be shipped off to China like some UPS package with five other guys, of which only two others could speak fluent Korean, he would have shredded the contract then and there, he would have laughed in their fucking faces and auditioned for JYP or YG instead. 

But he didn't, and he hadn't, and now he's here, flipping pancakes for a bunch of imbeciles because God help him if any of them even _try_ to cook.

"Jongdae, I'm hungry" _especially_ that one. 

Sighing, Jongdae turns, batter covered spatula raised threateningly in one hand, "Really Zitao? Can't you see I'm _fucking cooking_?"

"Can't you, like, cook faster though?"

Jongdae answers with a glare, "better watch your mouth or I might just forget to flip yours over."

"Come on Hyung, don't be like that," Zitao whines, pouting ever so slightly.

"Oh? So _now_ you call me Hyung, when your breakfast is on the line? I see how it is."

"Hey now, I already told you that we don't have that 'hyung' thing here in China. It's not my fault."

"It never is," Jongdae whispers, too quiet for Zitao to hear, as he flips the pancakes over, only slightly burning them. He swears it's not on purpose, but the fact is that he's fed up with the other members, irritation lacing his voice as he calls out, "breakfast is ready!" knowing that they'll only get up with the offer of food.

Minseok arrives first, greeting Jongdae cheerily before taking a seat. He selects the smallest pancake from the pile on the table, no syrup, no butter, just some fresh berries scattered on top.

Yixing stumbles in soon after, eyes blurry from another late night of composing, fingers stiff from playing the piano. He mumbles an incoherent _morning_ before taking a seat, pouring half of Aunt Jemima onto his plate until his pancake swims. Jongdae makes a face, but doesn't judge. Turning off the stove and sitting down, he piles his plate high, hoping to fill the emptiness settling in his stomach as he looks at the vacant seats.

There used to be six of them, then five, now four. 

He tries to be okay with that, memorizing the faces of those who are left, trying to remind himself that home is the stage and not their dorm, that he didn't sign up to make friends, but music. He tries, but it doesn't work.

He misses them. They all do. Extending their practices so they don't have to come back to their too-quiet dorm, pretending to have moved on even though their search histories are filled with articles about _them_.

It's good to know that they are doing okay.

It's hard to know that they are doing okay _without_ them.

Jongdae does his best not to think about those kinds of things though; stuffing his cheeks with food, he chews his aggression away, swallowing his anger like a glass of milk.

"We should go practice," he says after.

"We practiced yesterday though," Zitao complains through a mouthful of food.

"Your point being?"

"Shouldn't we...I don't know...take a break?" Jongdae just looks at him, one eyebrow raised,

"I don't know, should we?" He asks mockingly, tone sardonic. Zitao shrinks in his seat and resumes eating.

"I guess not..."

"That's what I thought. Now, let's say ten minutes? Be at the studio for nine?"

"Oh _come on_ man, I just started eating," Zitao protests, fork clattering where he drops it on the table.

"Then I suggest you eat faster."

So of course he only eats slower. Cutting his food into purposely small pieces, chewing exactly twenty times before swallowing; he eats up those ten minutes, glaring at Jongdae with a self-satisfied expression. Jongdae though, isn't having any of it. The too-quiet dorm feels claustrophobic, the extra-dose of silence pressing in on his skin like a weighted absence. He's not willing to wait, to indulge Zitao's need for attention. That was Yifan's job. Not his. So when those ten minutes are up, and everyone is ready _except_ Zitao. Jongdae leaves, practice bag slung over his shoulder, slamming the door harshly behind him.

He didn't sign up for this shit.

That said, leaving Zitao behind is not necessarily the best way to get rid of him. As they attempt to go through their choreography, Yixing correcting even the subtlest mistake, they are continuously interrupted by his calls and texts, each message increasingly more pleading, more desperate, more _grating_ on Jongdae's already high-strung nerves, until he's not just messaging them, but posting to their instagram, Weibo, and Meipai account, barraging their social sites with ever infuriating comments, demands that they come back home and get him. Jongdae is just about ready to fucking punch the smirk, that he's knows he's wearing, right off his face.

"Just one more call, one more text, one more post, and I'll ki-," he says, his phone vibrating insistently in his pocket, "fuck it, he's dead."

"Jongdae wait," Minseok calls rushing to shield the door,"you're not _really_ going to kill him are you?"

Jongdae just looks at him. Eyes blank. 

"You know if you kill him that they'll have to add someone new to the group, or put us together with K, right?"

"So?"

"So, are you _sure_ you want to do this? Are you sure you want to integrate a new member into the team, or worse, live in a dorm with Baekhyun?"

Jongdae pauses, Minseok's lips twisting up in a slight smirk, but then he's shrugging slim shoulders, muttering a, "yeah, I think I could live with that," before pushing past a now gaping Minseok, who can't believe that out of the two evils, Jongdae chose _Baekhyun_ as the lesser one.

Behind him Yixing sighs, "guess we should start on the funeral arrangements."

-

Fifteen minutes later in a smelly cab, fisted hands tucked under thighs, with various deep breathing exercises being done to images of Zitao begging for mercy, Jongdae arrives at the dorm, primed and ready to slam the Chinese maknae against the wall, wushu training be damned.

Luckily though, he isn't there. Not immediately at least. After keying in the security code Jongdae opens the door to a vacant living room.

"Huang Zitao, get your fucking ass here right now," he shouts through gritted teeth. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't come answering. Jongdae growls low in his throat, making his way down the hall and into the various rooms, "you are beyond dead, kid."

A muffled chuckle echoes from his left. Jongdae smiles, walking into the maknae's room where Zitao is waiting, lying on his stomach with his laptop opened before him, "hello Hyung," he says, voice saccharine sweet.

Jongdae waves, closing and locking the door behind him, "hello, Zitao, how's your head?"

"It's fine?"

"Are you sure? I could have sworn you hit it, pretty hard too, considering how _insane_ you've been acting."

"No...I'm fine."

Jongdae smirks, skirting the edge of the bed, "that's too bad, cause you know I thought, that _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , you had hit your head or something, but nope, you are just a natural born ass," Zitao swallows, opening his mouth to reply, only to be silenced by Jongdae's sudden weight on his chest, "and you know what we do to asses?"

Zitao's heart beats fast, blood rushing through his veins. Jongdae smiles,"we smack them."

"Hyung...is that..." he swallows, "really necessary?" Jongdae drags one slender finger down the line of Zitao's neck, tracing the thready pulse.

"What do you think?"

Zitao doesn't answer, not at first, stumbling over all the possible replies in his head, only to land on what Jongdae would probably call an _insane_ response.

"But Hyung," he coos, "what if I like being spanked?"

"Oh?" Jongdae quirks a brow, a trick that Zitao wishes he could do, "is that so?"

"Yeah, and I bet your pretty little hands would feel _great_ ," he taunts, not expecting Jongdae to counter his bluff, flipping him over with deceptively strong arms and landing one hard slap on each cheek. He yelps, "you fucking spanked me!"

"And?"

"And...it..." _hurt?_ he wants to say, except it didn't.

"Come on Zitao, it _what_?"

_Felt good_ , he thinks, just as Jongdae lands two more slaps, skin hitting loud against the denim of his jeans.

Jongdae whispers in his ear, "it _what_?"

Zitao mutters his reply into the fabric of the sheets. Jongdae, fueled by adrenaline laced aggression, slips his fingers into Zitao's belt loops and pulls. His pants drop down to his knees.

"Louder."

Zitao whimpers as cool air seeps through the thin material of his boxers, but says nothing. Jongdae smacks him again, and again, and again, until his palm is red and warm,

"Louder," he repeats.

Eyes shut tight, Zitao cries, "it felt good," voice strained and broken. 

Jongdae stops, his hands hanging limply at his sides, "what?"

Zitao faces him, "it felt good," he whispers. Jongdae just looks at him, at the obvious tent in his boxers,

"...it wasn't supposed to," he says, "but...maybe," he whispers, hands sliding around Zitao's hips,"if I hit harder...maybe..." Zitao sighs,

"Hyung...please."

Jongdae's fingers follow the curve of Zitao's ass, sliding underneath the material of his boxers to squeeze, loving how he reacts to the contact, pressing himself flush against Jongdae's chest, body asking for more. Jongdae removes the last layer of clothing, his hand landing hard against bare skin, tinging it red.

It's a beautiful colour.

He repeats the movement, putting more force into the slap, as Zitao moans into his shoulder; his cock pressing hard against the front of Jongdae's training pants, drawing awareness to his own arousal.

He keeps slapping, each smack slightly harder than the last, each spank raising the volume of Zitao's moans, until his cock is dripping precome and he's crying Jongdae's name from the hollow of his throat.

Panting, he moves his hands between their bodies, "do you want me to touch you?" he asks. 

"Please," Zitao begs.

"Are you sure?" He teases, running his hands along the inside of Zitao's thighs, breath ghosting the shell of his ear.

" _Hyung_ " 

Jongdae smirks, teeth scraping Zitao's jawline, "what? Did you think I'd forgotten about earlier? About how bad you behaved?" He grips his cock, holding it tight in his fist, "because trust me," he breathes, hand slowly moving, "I didn't." 

Zitao gasps, leaning against Jongdae for support as he moves his hand over him, quick and rough. He feels like he's being pulled in every direction, like he can't stay focused, mind spiraling, careening out of control; he's never been so turned on before. 

" _Hyung,_ " he whines, "I'm going to-" but just as he's about to say _come_ just as release edges over him like a wave, Jongdae stops, hand moving to circle around the base of his cock, cutting him off, preventing his finish. He moans, thrusting futilely into empty air.

"Going to what?" Jongdae questions mockingly.

"Please, Hyung, _please le_ -"

"Let you come?" he interjects, "after everything you did?"

"Please, Hyung, please, I promise I'll be good, I'll behave, I'll listen, just _please_."

"Well, since you asked so _nicely_ ," he says letting go, "I guess I'll have to," and he lowers his head, enveloping Zitao's cock in his mouth, hands gripping his still reddened ass.

The air immediately rushes out of Zitao's lungs, leaving him dizzy as Jongdae hums around his length. He tries not to choke him, but when Jongdae hollows his cheeks sucking him further in, he can't help but to fuck into his mouth, hips stuttering in an uneven rhythm. 

Jongdae tastes sweat and come on his tongue, throat raw and sore, he can just hear his vocal teacher yelling at him, chastising him, but Zitao's moans are louder, the obscene and lewd noises leaking from his lips the only song he needs to hear. 

No longer angry, no longer seeking revenge, he wants only Zitao's face, devoid of all pretense, all faux-confidence; he wants to see him fall apart, completely naked in his expression.

Grabbing Zitao's ass, he pulls off, leaving only the head of Zitao's cock in his mouth, before inching his way slowly back down, tongue sliding underneath, teeth gently scraping the sides, he maximizes every sensation, relishing in the way his ministrations make Zitao shake and shudder. He knows he's close too, can feel it in his tightened muscles, and unsteady breaths. The way his moans have dissolved into silence, hands fisting in Jongdae's shirt.

He grabs his ass harder, nails biting in; he doesn't have to look to know that Zitao's lips are rounded in the shape of his name, that if he could, he'd be chanting it like a prayer.

Smirking, he swallows, hollowing his cheeks and relaxing his throat, allowing Zitao to fill him completely until he is gagging on the taste of him.

Tears drip from the corners of his eyes, as Zitao comes completely undone, crying a mangled version of Jongdae's name, vision blurring at the edges, because it's been _so long_ since he's been able to come, and never has he come like this, so entirely, every fiber of his being thrumming with pleasure.

Jongdae swallows every drop; licks him clean. His own cock is still hard in the confines of his pants. Reaching down, he locks eyes with Zitao, still breathless on the sheets, "do you mind?" he asks. Zitao shakes his head, watching as Jongdae wraps a hand around himself, wrist moving quick beneath the fabric. Their eyes remain locked the entire time, Jongdae using the image of Zitao, lips swollen and eyes blown with lust, to fuel his arousal, Zitao using the image of Jongdae, sweat slicked skin and open mouth, as future reference.

He doesn't try to draw it out, wanting only release from the tension building inside of him. Dragging his nails just hard enough, he flicks his wrist, curving his hand exactly how he likes, knowing exactly what kind of touch will give him what he needs. Close quarters leaving no room for extended masturbation, he's become adept at quick orgasms stolen in quicker showers. He can already feel it, heat coiled in the pit of his stomach, rising, and rising, eyes fluttering shut against his will as his body gives itself over to the pleasure, hips thrusting mercilessly into his fist. He can feel Zitao watching him still, eyes burning into his skin, making his breath heady and hand stutter. He likes the idea of being watched, knows exactly what kind of picture he paints. Hair matted to his forehead, lips as red and swollen as Zitao's, pupils dilated, body tensed like the string of a violin. He looks like a fuck-boy, knows that that's exactly what Zitao is thinking of doing, _fucking him_ , it makes him smile as he finally comes, thinking, _maybe_.

Maybe he will fuck Zitao; if only to see the look on his face when he makes him his bottom bitch. 

He chuckles just imagining it, adjusting his clothing after and watching as Zitao does the same. The room is silent. Jongdae finds it a tab bit uncomfortable to be honest, and is glad when Zitao breaks it a few moments later.

"Minseok and Yixing will be back soon," he says.

"Yes, I know, hence the clothing," Jongdae replies, gesturing to his now presentable self. Zitao blushes, biting his lip,

"Well...uh...what do we tell them?" _Good question_ , Jongdae thinks, before laughing, lips quirking up in a smirk, because he thinks he knows exactly what to say, whispering the answer into Zitao's ear,

"We tell them that you got _exactly_ what you asked for."


End file.
